Somewhere on the road
Sometimes, tourist attractions are home-grown
The Burger Scoop redux
Looking a little the worse for wear is the sign announcing The Burger Scoop, previously covered in this post. Don’t despair, however; the burgers are as good as ever.
Again I just had to stop here, park out front, enter and order the Bistro burger and strawberry milkshake. I was warned that I might find the Bistro a tad on the spicy side, but I told the woman that I liked it that way. Since I’ve spent a lot of time on the Baja, spicy doesn’t bother me in the least.
The Bistro wasn’t as spicy as I would have liked, but I’m certain the locals find it just a little on the hot side. As far as I’m concerned, there weren’t enough jalapenos on it, but that’s only my opinion.
As always–and yes, one more time–The Burger Scoop is a place not to be missed on Highway 17 in Ignace, Ontario.
Oh, and they’ve added a Robin’s Donuts franchise to the mix to catch those early-morning highway high-milers with coffee and donuts or muffins.
Don’t expect burgers for breakfast though. The restaurant doesn’t open for lunch until 11 a.m.
Rest areas in Northwestern Ontario
This is an ongoing commentary on the sad spectacle of roadside rest areas in northwestern Ontario. Read more about how badly the area is treated with regard to an inability to take clean, decent and safe bathroom breaks along the isolated miles of the Trans-Canada Highway here, and here. Don’t despair, though. There are plenty of trees and shrubs available, behind which you are free to empty your bladder and evacuate your bowels. Bring your own toilet paper.
Updated July 2010: Sudbury to Thunder Bay – a distance of 626 miles/1,000 kilometers – has a dearth of rest areas. In fact, that little stretch of two-lane blacktop is renowned for its absence of rest areas.
Oh, sure, it has the very occasional Tourist Centre by the side of the road where supervised evacuation of your bowel is allowed from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., mid-May to the end of August, when those buildings are shut down for the winter. After that, boys and girls, it’s entirely up to you to find your own personal tree at a snowplow turnout that hasn’t been shat upon before you got there.
Good luck with that.
Many of the smaller areas that are indicated by a tiny brown and white picnic table sign have wooden toilets, but access to these too is closed off in winter. No matter though. The signs are so small and questionable that even a long-time Ministry of Transportation (MTO) employee (are there any of those left?) would be hard-pressed to pull off into one before passing it by.
A tourist new to the area would have absolutely no idea that a toilet persists in between the trees covering up any sight of the offending wooden outhouse. And before you climb into one of these at night, be aware that there’s no lighting that will allow you to see what you’re stepping in. You might as well use a tree – if you can find one uncontaminated by human waste.
Now then, I know that the excuse for all of the stupidity on the part of Ontario is that it provides local business with a guaranteed supply of customers full of human waste that needs to be cleaned up at the end of every day. Believe me. I know how some of those local businesses clean their latrines, and it’s not pretty. It doesn’t smell good either.
Perhaps Ontario-the-good might want to consider providing some training to these businesses in how to clean a shitter. Such training might provide not only a steady stream of return business (if you’ll pardon the pun) but also gains in the number of people employed.
Updated October 2009: Little did I know when I wrote this post that Ontario, in its infinite wisdom, had closed 20 out of 23 service centres along Highway 400 and 401 in southern Ontario. That’s right, folks, they closed 20. All at once. Re-opening will not occur until 2012. What a fucking joke.
<< uncontrollable laughter >>
Drivers aren’t even allowed to stop on the side of the road on those highways, and in fact, there are no paved shoulders to pull off onto. Imagine that, users of the Interstate system down south.
Consequently, there’s nowhere to piss. Or shit.
The stupidity of Ontario never ceases to amaze me.
* * *
There’s a nice little rest area just west of Thunder Bay. It’s the time zone map, complete with trees, tables and toilets. It’s remarkable for the size of the tribute it pays to time zone change. Now, granted, it does delineate the Eastern Time Zone (from whence all things Toronto must by edict emanate), and the Central Time Zone, where nothing ever happens. That in itself makes it remarkable and distinct.
I do know that some years ago, the time zone marker was moved to its present position from a somewhat more easterly location. I’m not sure if Queen’s Park in Toronto, the centre of the known universe, took it upon itself to actually move a time zone, but it wouldn’t surprise me. The display is now on a prominent hill looking southeast to its mecca.
Almost unnoticed is the Arctic Watershed marker. It’s located somewhat east of the time zone map on one of those snowplow turnouts renowned for trash disposal, urine deposits and No Parking signs.
Some distance back in the bush from the Arctic Watershed sign and almost invisible is a plaque detailing the history and area involvement in delineating the territory which eventually became known as Canada.
Unspoiled delights
I’ve never understood Ontario’s inability to promote tourism in the far north. The government in the south takes billions of dollars from the north by means of the forests, mines and water (in the form of hydro electricity). All the government basically has to provide in return is a paved highway, and this in the form of the TransCanada highway, which they must provide in order that goods travel across the country.
For decades, the unspoiled nature of the province, from the Manitoba border to Sault Ste. Marie, has sat around just waiting to be noticed. Unfortunately, no one has had the foresight to promote the area as the largest unspoiled and accessible-by-road nature preserve in the world.
Are you driving through the area? Where are the washrooms and toilets? Why, just pull off the road anywhere you like, but preferably at a snowplow turnout, and deposit your trash and urine in the pit bordering the turnout.
Are you looking for a scenic spot to have lunch? Well then, why not look for a small brown sign with an arrow and hope for the best? If you’re fortunate, and you don’t speed on by because the signage is small and indeterminate, you’ll miss it all.
Might there be tables? A toilet? A scenic view? You’ll never know until you pull in and have a look for yourself. But then, you’ve sped on by, and, too late now, you drive on to your destination, having missed out on spectacular views, lakes, streams, rapids and picnic tables.
And only the occasional outdoor toilet.
Terry Fox forever continues in his quest
Ghosts from a past life
You know you’re getting old when some of the equipment you used to fly in another life is being prepared for a permanent aviation museum display.
I’m actually quite thrilled to have played a small part in helping to mature helicopter aviation in Canada.
During year two of my aviation career, I assisted in the overhaul and rebuild of this aircraft with two engineers, Gerry O. and John K. Upon completion of the overhaul, I did the test flights and associated engine break-in, and shortly thereafter I flew the helicopter to the east coast and onto a ferry to take her to Newfoundland.
I spent a grand three months touring the island on a forestry contract that never involved all that much flying for the forestry department. All the same, it was a marvellous adventure for a young man at the start of his aviation career, and one that I will never forget.
Roadside assistance for the distressed
I’m still on the north shore of Lake Superior.
It was cloudy and cool this morning.
Having only 140 miles to go, I took my time and got on the road by 0900. Unfortunately, I had to stop to put on the rain pants since the highway was wet. There was only the occasional drop of water on the windshield, so it must have rained much earlier.
At about the 20 minute mark I was flagged down by a kid out of Manitoba on an ’84 Yamaha two-banger. He was heading south also, but his engine died. Without tools, he couldn’t do much. I loaned him some of mine (the ones he could use, since I don’t carry metric) and he drained his two fuel bowls.
Clear and bright.
The plugs were good. The plug leads were a tad sketchy (thanks for that word, Kayla) and broke off in my hand.
That’s normal, sez the kid.
Well, okay, I guess. It’s his bike.
He’s done all the work on it to date. He’s got a nice hand-made spiderweb lower fairing. It’s not actually a fairing, but if it were covered, it would be.
Eventually, he manages to get to the fuel filter. It has fuel in it, so he thinks it’s okay.
Not necessarily, I tell him. Why not pull it, drain some into that empty Tim Horton’s cup and see what it looks like?
I’ll do that, sez the kid.
Hmm. Grass. How did green lawn grass get into the fuel filter, I ask?
Dunno, sez the kid.
The fuel line gets reconnected, the kid engages the starter, and away we go.
Problem solved.
During this series of events, an interested OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) officer drives by a couple of times, passing in both directions and obviously on his highway patrol, giving us the eye. Finally, he can stand it no longer and pulls in behind us to see what the hell is going on.
He turned out to be a pretty nice guy, actually, giving helpful advice and offering clean gas to the kid.
I don’t know if the kid accepted or not, because once the motorcycle turned over, I collected my tools and got back on the road.
It poured for the remainder of my 100 mile ride.
My thanks to Aerostich and their Darien rain gear. It’s kept my ass dry for decades now.
* * *
Not too many riders stop for a motorcycle by the side of the road any more. There are too many RUBs out there who think a cell phone and a trailer can solve all the problems one might encounter.
Even if one of those guys were to stop, his assistance would be limited to going for gas, or to make a phone call. Mechanical help wouldn’t be an option, I’m certain. Tools? Why carry tools? I have a five-year warranty.
Unfortunately, in the boondocks (believe me, the north shore of Lake Superior is the boondock nation), a rider stopping to offer help and support is a welcome relief. The look of gratitude on the kid’s face when I pulled over was all that I needed to see, even without his immediately knowing whether I could help or not.
Fortunately, this time, I could.